


Begin Again

by mozalieri



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Happy Ending, I promise, Leopold Mozart's A+ Parenting, Mèche Origin Story, Sharing Clothes, Siblings, Trans Character, Transphobia, Trauma, You can pry italics from my cold dead hands, canonverse, to each other anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozalieri/pseuds/mozalieri
Summary: The Mozart siblings are best friends, and they have been since they were only small children.They see, they understand, and they are enough.





	Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> first thing i'm posting for mor on here! please make sure you read the warnings & i apologize for any weird grammar. it's not my strongest suit ^.^"

Wolfgang’s earliest memory of his sister was seeing her at the piano.

She was beautiful, even then, fingers gracing the keys. She looked like an angel, all short hair and cravat tied around her neck, practically glowing in the sunlight that poured in. The piano seemed so big then, grand, and in the middle of the room. It was like a dream to hear her play, even if he could not understand the beauty of music then, the work and effort she must have put into that song.

She smiled at him, just as she always did, even as he tried to reach up and touch the keys.

“Don’t tell father I’m letting you up here.” She told him, and she lifted him up onto the bench with her. She brought his left hand up, as it was closest to her, and put three of his fingers on the keys. “Play for me.” She said.

He pressed a note, and that was the beginning.

Well, the first beginning, anyway. As a musician, Wolfgang knew that sometimes things had more than one ending, and, if that was the case, they could have more than one beginning, too.

He and his sister could have as many beginnings as they wanted.

Amongst his earliest memories, Wolfgang recalled sneaking into the piano room often. He was a troublemaker, not because he _wanted_ to be bad, no, but because he _needed_ to play. He needed to sit at the piano, to play whatever Nannerl could teach him.

Wolfgang needed music, needed to get away from stupid dresses and curtseys. Nannerl needed a friend, needed to get away from their father’s lectures and scales, if only for a little bit.

And so they did.

They played together, and there was another beginning.

It was cold that day, and their parents were out. Wolfgang and Nannerl did their chores, together, to get them done as quickly as possible. Together, they were always together.

Nannerl paused her playing and looked at him. She said something that wasn’t his name, and he looked up.

“Do you like dresses?” She asked.

Wolfgang made a face, and he shook his head. He didn’t _hate_ the dresses, per se, and he liked roses, the smell of them. He liked the glitter, and he liked feeling _pretty_ , but not like this. No, not like this.

“I like your clothes.” He told her. “And your hair.” He looked over at her, worried. “Is that bad?”

She shook her head, fast. “I like your clothes, too.” They were still so young, so close in size then. “Trade me?” She offered.

“What?” Wolfgang asked, “Trade clothes?”

“I like your clothes more, too.” She said. “I- I want to wear your clothes instead.”

Wolfgang cocked his head to the side, but he agreed. There was no harm done, no price to pay for playing dress up with his dear sister.

She looked better in his dresses, anyway. Not that she wasn't beautiful before, but when she was wearing his dresses, she grinned from ear to ear, spun. The dress spun with her, catching the air, and Wolfgang laughed.

She helped him tie his cravat, do the buttons on his vest. It was a little big, just a tad, but it was perfect. Wolfgang smiled sweetly at her, and he said a name that wasn’t hers.

Nannerl shook her head. “Maria Anna. Could you say Maria Anna, instead?” She asked, voice quiet. She did not _have_ to feel ashamed, not around Wolfgang. She knew that, too, but this was the first time. It was the first time. “Like Maman?”

Wolfgang paused, lips parted. Maria Anna. “Maria Anna.” He said, then clicked his tongue. “Nannerl?”

“Nannerl!” She giggled, tossing her head back as she laughed more fully. “I love it!”

His _sister_ , his sister was so beautiful.

And it was not in the same day, perhaps not even the same year, but among their dressing up, their whispers of _Nannerl_ , there was another beginning.

Nannerl stopped saying the name that wasn’t his. Wolfgang did not catch when, did not catch when that name turned into the word _brother_ instead, but it did. And he was grateful, he was.

They picked Wolfgang, together. Together. Wolfgang wasn’t even sure _how_ they picked it. Maybe it was in the Bible, maybe it was the name of a relative he could no longer remember.

No matter which it was, Wolfgang loved it.

Wolfgang turned into Wolferl, and they whispered that to each other, too. Early in the mornings or late at night, padding around the house in only stockinged feet, quiet as mice.

Pretend playing the piano when they couldn’t make a peep, playing it as loud as possible when they _could_.

“Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!”

“Maria Anna Mozart!”

“At your service!”

Time passed, more borrowing clothes, more whispers. Their parents didn’t have to know, nobody did. This was theirs, theirs and only theirs.

Nannerl began growing out her hair, and their father allowed it as long as she wore a ponytail. She did, and she took it down when he was not looking.

Perhaps that is what sparked her idea. Among their clothes, their secrets, Nannerl loved to share with Wolfgang. This included her happiness, as well. She didn't want to have the things she desired if Wolfgang couldn't have what he wanted, too.

So, if she could have her hair the way she liked, then she wanted the same for him.

Truly, Wolfgang _did_ mind having the long hair, but he was not jealous that Nannerl could have her hair long, too. It was what she deserved, to feel beautiful, because she was. She was so beautiful.

Still, she wanted him to share in her happiness, just as he wanted for her. Together. They had everything when they were _together_.

So Nannerl cut it. Nannerl cut his hair.

It was a day their parents were to be out, so they did not think it through. It was another beginning, and they were so excited for it. Wolfgang kept his eyes closed, felt lighter in more ways than one.

Nannerl stepped back, and before she could even get a good look at him, Wolfgang was looking over into the mirror.

“Wait, Wolfgang,” She tried, face flushing in embarrassment. “I missed some.”

There was a lock of hair, almost annoying, hanging at the right side of Wolfgang’s face. Some of the strands curled up, touched his cheek.

“Mèche.” Wolfgang said, out loud.

“I can cut—“

“I love it.” Wolfgang’s voice was soft, full of awe. “Nannerl, it is so cute! It’s so me, and I look so…” He stared at himself in the mirror for a bit, short hair, cravat around his neck. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he laughed. “I love it!”

Nannerl smiled, weak at first, then wide. She laughed too, covering her face.

She looked so beautiful, in a baby blue dress, red lipstick on. Her hair was down, falling about her shoulders now, and, God, Wolfgang could swear he saw a halo around her head.

Wolfgang pulled her into hug, and she cried into his shoulder. He cried, too, and they cried together.

They cried together again, but for another reason. Their father—

He _startled_ them. He was not supposed to be home, and had they’d known, they’d have been quiet as mice once more. They would not have been wearing what made them most comfortable, they would not have been playing the piano and singing.

He shouted something, _some things_ that weren’t their names. They sat down on the couch, makeup and short hair and borrowed clothes and all. Ashamed, hand in hand. Together.

Wolfgang was sure that this was the ending, and, at that time, he was unsure if they could have another _beginning_.

But their father said _fine_. He said that if they wanted to be _these_ kind of children, _fine_ , but they had to operate under his conditions.

If Nannerl wanted so badly to be a girl, then she could not compose. Composing was not _for_ little girls, and she was to now take Wolfgang’s chores, his duties in their house.

And if Wolfgang wanted _so badly_ to be a boy, to be his son, then he had to be the best son he could be. He had to take Nannerl’s spot and compose. He had to make their family proud.

Wolfgang felt Nannerl’s hand tighten in his.

And they agreed because it seemed so manageable. It seemed as if they were only trading places, and they could still play. They could play together when their parents were busy or away. They could still be best friends.

But their father _pushed_. Wolfgang had so much catching up to do, and how dare he start with his left hand. Did he want the other families to think he was an idiot? Who did he think he was?

Wolfgang didn't understand why it was an issue. Why should it matter what hand he played with if the music was good?

Their mother was kinder. Strict, but kinder, and Nannerl picked up everything easily. Still, between soapy fingers, pricks from needles, and the space between the laundry room and the piano room, she missed her brother.

Music, she’d told him, was something she could live without. She loved music, of course, but to her, the idea of composing was never more than a pipe dream. From the moment she saw Wolfgang at those keys, she knew that _he_ would be the one who would become the composer.

And it was wonderful. In her eyes, Wolfgang was a wonderful composer, and he deserved to have his greater talent be known. Wolfgang deserved to play, to become the famous composer he dreamed to be.

Nannerl told him that she was not envious, and if she was ever angry, it was never at him. He was not the one who forced them to choose this life, and he did not _steal_ her dreams, piped or corked or not. 

Their father did. He stole her dreams, and he shoved them into Wolfgang’s arms.

Wolfgang only nodded, an attempt at solemn agreement each time she’d try to explain this to him, but he could not believe her if he wanted to. By then, the music in his head was too loud, his father’s words echoed too much.

He was afraid of what was to come, that he could not live up to what he’d chosen for himself. He was afraid to become a lowly street performer, a jester, a vagabond. A clown. The circus music was already in his head, the fear of failure loomed over him, but he knew he had to press on.

If not for himself, then for his sister.

He did. He forced himself into the next beginning, played with the blindfold. Determined, improving, but never enough. Concertos and operas, and people said he was a _prodigy_ , but it was not enough, he was not enough.

Not enough for their father, not enough for himself.

But, of course, it was enough for Nannerl. It always was, he always was.

They could start another beginning.

Old enough to not be lingered over, Nannerl began slipping into the piano room once more. After chores, when their parents were away.

As frequently as she could, as often as Wolfgang needed company. She was there. She was always there. She sat as his side, as beautiful as she’d always been.

They played together once more, quiet and soft. Mice children, Wolfgang’s head on her shoulder.

“I am going to Mannheim.” He said, one night, voice soft. “I am going to find work and make father proud, make you proud.”

Nannerl looked at him, looked as though she wanted to say something but was deciding on something else instead. She brought a hand up, touched his cheek, hand slipping under that long strand that he refused to cut even now.

“You have always made me proud.” She said finally, and it was the truth. Whether it had been the way he played her songs as a child or the way he helped her with her makeup—he astounded her constantly, completely. Oh, how she wished he could see what she saw. “I don’t know what Mannheim has in store for you, Wolfgang, but I will always be proud of you.”

Wolfgang looked over at her, her long hair, the way she did her lipstick perfectly now. He smiled, tearing up like he did before, like a child once more.

“Nannerl, you are _so_ beautiful.”

They might not have had everything together, but _together_ , they had everything.

Wolfgang took Nannerl’s hand from his cheek, pressed a kiss to the top of it. “When I find my new beginning in Mannheim, I will bring it back to you.”

Nannerl grinned, feeling like a child herself. “Of course.” She said, then looked to the piano. “Let’s take it from the top?”

Wolfgang nodded. He counted them off, and he started with his left hand.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr.](https://loperap.tumblr.com/)
> 
> special thanks to [my boyfriend](https://saluwueri.tumblr.com/) for this idea and beta-ing for me! <3


End file.
